The Writing Prompt Boot Camp

Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 190

For this week’s prompt, write an appointment poem. Could be a doctor’s appointment, an appointment with a literary agent, or a dentist’s appointment (which is enough to get my boys scared stiff). Don’t miss your appointment with poetry this week. Poem, poem, poem!

Here’s my attempt at an appointment poem:

“Appointment”

We meet beneath the stars, though we call them
daggers reminding us why we sneak out
in the first place. This park, with its swings and
silence, keeps us shielded from our parents–
so afraid we’ll repeat their mistakes they
hold us apart in the day, but now we
have our chance to play and now we have our
chance to play. Now we have our chance to play.

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149 thoughts on “Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 190”

A week of scissors cutting fabric, circuits
of standing/turning while Mother pins up hems;
the practicing of lines: “Sad Philomel,”
she has trouble with the f-and p-sounds, “pours forth…
Plaint’s” – the word’s a canyon between her
and Pageant-day, her appointment
with the stage. At bedtime, by glow of night-
light she dons her cardboard head-dress,
jewels of the crown in every precious color
of cough drops from the drugstore shelf.
Nightingale Princess, white chrysanthemums
already wilted with anticipation.

Some are thornless
while others pack a wallop
some tart, some sweet, off the vine
full of fiber and anti-oxi’s, and
enough nutrients to choke a bear,
they’ll tolerate poor soil
colonize ditches & vacant lots
feed birds, caterpillars and deer
then turn right around with their
deep purple black, woodsy flavor
spoon into our mouths
pies, jams, and cobblers
salads and smoothies
ice cream and muffins
the size of a Pinata!

So meet me tomorrow
at my favorite berry patch
with pail and leather gloves in hand,
berry time rolls round but once a year,
and I shan’t miss out this time as I’ve
a date with some blackberry wine!

I’LL MEET YOU THEN
(I’LL SEE YOU THERE)
(c) 2012 – G. Smith (BMI)
———————————————————-
I’ll meet you then,
I’ll see you there,
When Jesus calls to meet us in the air.
We’ll spend our days,
In joyful praise,
When Jesus calls to meet us in the air.

There’ll be no sorrow,
We’ll cry no tears;
There’ll be no worries,
We’ll have no fears.

There’ll be no sickness,
Nor heartache and pain;
When Jesus comes to meet us,
He’ll call us all by name.

So,I’ll meet you then,
I’ll see you there,
When Jesus calls to meet us in the air.
We’ll spend our days,
In joyful praise,
When Jesus calls to meet us in the air.

That lame will walk,
The blind will see;
The deaf will hear the trumpet sound,
The prisoner’s will go free.

We’ll stand hand in hand,
With those we’ve loved,
Who’ve gone on before us,
To be with Jesus up above.

So I’ll meet you then,
I’ll see you there,
When Jesus calls to meet us in the air.
We’ll spend our days,
In joyful praise,
When Jesus calls to meet us in the air;
When Jesus calls to meet us in the air.

I guess mine is a “non-appointment” poem. Once again I used the the Sunday Whirl’s weekly Wordle challenge and incorporate a bank of twelve words into my poem: last, nine, final, refresh, gassed, line, number, evidence, bare, smooth, shift, gear.

August Vacation

Last leg of the nine-hour drive,
final fling of the summer –
pull into the rest stop
to refresh – bathroom break,
a cold drink – get the car gassed up,
check the map one more time.
Hit the interstate again –
stay alert, don’t let the white lines
mesmerize you. Let the numbers
tick on the odometer, evidence
that you’re farther from home.
All your appointments are behind you,
day-planner forgotten on your desk,
its blocks for next week left bare.
Put on your cruise control
prepare for a smooth arrival,
downshift and stay in that lower gear
for at least seven days.

It’s come to this
the last day of summer
when the blue moon has fallen
and the storm has passed.
Yesterday the flood receded,
leaving raw new gullies
and fallen frames,
but this morning is bright
and it’s time for you to go.

Appointment
As long as it’s not an appointment with doom,
I look forward to walking into any room.
But an appointment with my pillow
is always the best.
I have no idea what waits on the other side
to jolt my memory, give me fair warning,
or play tricks on my mind.
Will it be travel, new friends, meeting Hollywood stars,
fearful sights, or a night I can fly?
As long as I can keep reality in check,
this is one appointment I like best.

My client is too flexible, too nice.
There’s such a thing as being tractable
to a fault. I’ve rescheduled more than thrice,
screwed the agenda, trashed the timetable,
and generally made work unworkable.
I wonder if I’m going to pay a price,
or if what’s still gotten done will suffice
to keep the whole endeavor viable.

The problem is we’re both creatives, and
things get done without meeting—or meaning.
Separately, we follow our distractions:
I play turn after turn of Words With Friends
while, on the other side, I roam, gleaning
a poem from these random meditations.

In my hard metal chair I sat, ready for the vagaries of French
History to get at. Not one page, not two, not three or four.
No, twenty pages of French by hand were no more.

The words were gone! The hour was late!
Please, God, don’t seal my fate.
God, are you there? Can you help me through?
It’s due tomorrow. What can I do?
I raised my head from silent prayer. Oh how did I start?
First sentence where are you? Which quote? Which page?
What book are you in? If I find you I can begin.

The words were gone! The hour was late!
I raised my head, my eyes were guided by fate.
To the first book where they fell
The words came rushing out of my pen in a swell.
Twenty pages in one fell swoop. From memory,
In French, twenty pages, reproduced.

The words had been gone. The hour was late.
But I had learned that God is great.

Thank you, Marie. Yes, It is true. I “ran away” to Paris when I was 40 to get my MA in French. It was so hard to make my brain crank out those papers. I was hysterical when I realized I had lost my paper. I had books open all over my table in a panic, trying to figure what to do. And yes, after praying, my eyes fell on the right book with the quote I had used in the first paragraph of my paper, and I recalled it all to memory and wrote it again by hand; non-stop. A small thing maybe. But it is an answered prayer I will never forget.

The early evening dew
crept up blades of grass
and crawled across the rock wall
beneath me as I waited. I waited
for what seemed hours
with breath short in my chest,
rustling the autumn leaves above
with each respiration.
The moon
peered low beneath wisps of clouds
waiting as well to see if you’d really come.
Though at your silhouette’s promenade
I’m certain,
the stars began to shine,
for the first time.

I’d go with you but it’s so long a drive. I’d go
but shade keeps winking under oaks. The sheep
are sleeping and the dog’s awake, the wagon’s
resting on its rusty spokes, and honey bees
are goldening their hive. I’d go with you, if just
for old-times’ sake. But I’ve appointments,
there’s so much to do – I’ve got a date with
summer. Mother Earth is spinning sunbeams,
and the sky is blue. A poem calls me for a stanza
break.

His heart danced, dipped
and leapt again
For eleven days and
Eleven nights

She sung
Swing Low, Sweet Chariot
Magic of the Night, Bring Him Home,
I Dreamed A Dream, Summertime
In a continuous loop
until her throat rang rasped raw

Combed his hair with cologne
wet his lips with balm
walked to the edge of
the abyss with him
watched from behind
his shoulders at him seeing
the Universe spread
infinitely before him
poised to step off

Only to be returned
Again, and again and again
Rested with the crescendo
of Sibeilus, Tchaikowsky,
crashing the walls of her
mind as he raised graceful
arms and conducted
in silent connected concert

until

the sudden scent of apricots
filled the room

And he smiled
the smile of kings
and left on a sigh
acknowledging
Universal
incompetence
reconciled and forgiven

Time and tide were kept waiting
while you stood, debating whether
your heart and mind were of the kind
to join forces. As a matter of course
you quit horsing around and bound
down dressed in your finest; the nines
and then some. And you come
to the decided place. Your face drops
and your stop in your tracks.
This meeting lacks ambiance
and allure. But mostly, it lacks her.

This winter morn the roads
Are almost un-navigable and
I am grateful for my four-wheel drive
As I plow through fresh snow
Tracing a new route to work
Sluicing between curbed monsters
Really just parked cars but so
Snow-covered and socked in
As to be indistinguishable as such

Every day’s an adventure
In my view; I don’t like traffic
Or the stop and go of intersections
And challenge myself to find side-streets
And alleys that permit me to just keep
Going with very little braking
The only pre-requisite is that I make
My appointment, get to work on time

What a sweet, lovely poem of a man’s life and willingness to let go naturally … I really like this Nancy and take it, it’s based on fact? Wonderfully written especially so soon after the event, I applaud the tribute and the courage. I bet he’s tickled wherever he is …

They fight from spring through summer,
zooming and dodging over blooms and feeders,
but when autumn pinches the air,
they swarm together around the nectar
to refuel for the long flights south,
cooperative at last until they arrive
and set up old rivalries on new ground.
The urgency of rendezvous is hotwired
into their tiny selves from beak to tail feather,
from whirring wing to wing,
a date with survival, with instinct,
with a winter home far from here.

Oh, this so reminds me of my mother seeing her reflection in a mirror and wondering who that old woman was. She said, “Well, in my heart I’m a size 9 with good legs.” I just love your bear feet in a field of Queen Anne’s lace. Lovely imagery.

We came together,
You and I,
When I barely
Knew life existed,
Before I first
Recognized breath
As belonging to me,
When things abandoned
Me forever by leaving
Rooms I occupied.
We came together,
You and I,
In this capsule
Called experience.
We have a date,
You and I,
That extends itself
Forever onward;
A date called Growth–
Of worldly knowledge,
But most of all,
Of spirit and understanding.

Meet me
in the moonlight
when the tide’s right
and she spills her diamonds
loose; lace your fingers through
my hair and stare out
over this wave-woven place
we both belong;
whisper breeze and stir
these trees
into a shivered song.

I’m running late as usual.
Your stare from the corner of the living room serves a constant reminder.
Though you’re not far away,
Week after week I am missing you
Mentally rescheduling our rendezvous
In favor of work, errands, dishes, anything but-
This is one meeting I cannot postpone forever.
At some point, I will need to fold my laundry.

Each day followed the one before
Regimented blocks of time
With events precision scheduled
To maximize hours, minutes, seconds
In efficient trips to and from work
and extracurricular activities
Until that one moment
When I realized the most important
Appointments I could keep
Were the moments I shared with you.

Oh my … so very sorry for your recent loss, mich. I can’t even think about losing my parents without my eyes welling – the only downside to a close family. I need to remind myself that when it is time, it is time, and God will give us all the strength to get through it. He’ll have to.

Oh waking up to a wonderful day
all that needs to be done
school starts back tomorrow
my body is tired
feels like a worn out marrow

Running around like a wild one
hope to wake up on time
set the alarm clock
the rush is on again

Children stressed out
over not having enough
coloring pens
Off to work the good gentlemen

Smell of the toast and the hot tea
children and everyone
rushing by me
summer is gone
weather is getting cold
oh my goodness
i feel very old

Writing down the list of the last few bit and bobs
wondering is there anything left for me in the shops
the race is on to find all i can
i need an industrial cooler a massive big fan

To cool me down and calm me down
i must not stand still
give me something for my nerves
or least something to help me stand still

Off she will go another start of a year
growing up so fast
the daughter i hold so dear
where does time go
my baby is growing up fast
she always makes me laugh
we surely have a blast

So as tomorrow draws closer
she will wave goodbye to me
she wont let me hug her in public
or even sit on my knee
all grown up now
she is independent sure enough
by tomorrow evening i will be out of puff

I have a son who is 20 another daughter who is 15 and the youngest is 10 so have experienced all the ages. Never sit still in any case. That is the most terrifying part of their adolescence driving for a parent i suppose. Wrote this for my youngest she is truly becoming independent now. Growing up fast

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